


Back To 5:05

by PerfectTragedy



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: 5 AM vibes thinking about failed love, Arctic Monkeys - 505, Drinking to Cope, Feels, FrUK, Hotel room hookup, Late at Night, M/M, Memories, Oneshot, Sad and Happy, Smoking, Song Lyrics, Songfic, Suggestive Themes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-02
Updated: 2020-06-02
Packaged: 2021-03-03 20:54:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,492
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24511912
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PerfectTragedy/pseuds/PerfectTragedy
Summary: Back to square one of Arthur overthinking everything about Francis and spiraling into nostalgia, plunging into the dark.Resisting the temptation of buying that one ticket and not thinking twice about it.
Relationships: England/France (Hetalia)
Kudos: 11





	Back To 5:05

Alone in bed. Each second the clock strikes the reality into his chest. It echoes. Tangled sheets, though not a result of what he would have wanted. 

Arthur faced the ceiling longingly, waiting for it to illustrate the portrait that haunted him. What a dream it would be, for sure, to look him straight in the eye.

** I'm going back to 505 **

_ A rush to the hotel bed, a path paved by whispers of infatuation and giggles eventually leading to all sort of lewd sounds. A mix of limbs in a mix of twists and turns and fists hung tightly into the mattress. Gasps, friction and murmurs of anticipation soaked into the moment. _

** If it's a seven hour flight or a forty-five minute drive **

_ All too long ago this was, clasping hands and pulling hair, erasing fears of being left behind in the morning. No worries for the Sun was ready to come out at any given second, lather their naked bodies with tenderness.  _

_ Stopping the alarm on the nightstand, 5:00 AM. _

** In my imagination you're waiting, lying on your side **

** With your hands between your thighs **

_ The shy rays of the Sun finally slipped through the cracks of the curtains all at once, giving life to Arthur's muse of radiant blond hair and two crystals of blue with a melancholy to match. Flower blooming from the attention awarded, a needy one appearing to demand even more as to properly glow. _

** Stop and wait a sec **

_ The French lover watched him with interest at the sudden halt in their activity. Arthur eyed him down like prey and burned the blushing face into his memory. Gave him a condescending smile as a reminder, too. While the other frowned slightly for less than a heartbeat, he leaned in to drink from the soft, kiss-bruised lips, taking control of the untamed fire down within. _

** Oh, when you look at me like that, my darling **

** What did you expect? **

_ On top, falling off and climbing back up, pushing into the castle of white, plush comfort. The pale, slender arms - strict, loving and misleading, most of all. _

** I probably still adore you with your hands around my neck **

_ Breathless on a number of slurred words to further the narrative, on top of the adrenaline. Gasping for air between rushed movements to get somewhere fast enough not to lose momentum and slow enough to enjoy it while it lingers. _

** Or I did last time I checked **

_Blacking out, fading back in and spiraling, had long lost track of where his body ends and begins. The bedmate leaned into his ear, stuttering in motion with every movement while whispering sleekly in French. Reeked of the shared alcohol, intoxicating perfume and rich impulsiveness._

** Not shy of a spark **

_ Arthur was steadily being taken to the very peak, violence and romance blurring the lines of his vision. He rest assured knowing that it was not a dream. After all, he was getting what he had coming to him by being limited air reaching the lungs, sensitive skin ablaze and arms tied in sheets as main concepts to the nature of their interaction. _

** A knife twists at the thought that I should fall short of the mark **

_ The ritualistic act held the two chained to the mess and dirt. A helpless vessel of the game, addicted to the punishment by which he was being saved. Pull the strings back, make the puppeteer stand straighter. It is all far too heavy, lovely. _

** Frightened by the bite though it's no harsher than the bark **

_ Subtilities of threats made him feel alive from words spoken in a foreign tongue. Oh, wouldn't his lover just burst with happiness to see him in blue lips and stare death down in the green of his eyes, skin of unmoving porcelain? Would not give him the satisfaction of talking back, though. _

** Middle of adventure, such a perfect place to start **

_ Untied shoes at the hotel room entrance, untouched luggage cast in a corner and lights off for love not to find its way out. The only escape was the bed, most certainly. _

_ Had one sole question: was it a far-fetched thought to call whatever they had, love? _

. . .

. . 

.

** But I crumble completely when you cry **

Arthur turned over to his other side, turning the page of the text, the lines in his mind. Fire away with the thoughts. Never could forget the look received from the other end when a string of curses flew out of his mouth like poison darts. It made a contradiction out of him - thinking, thinking, overthinking.

His body was wretched with cries much like Francis' at the time when punches were thrown at each other's egos, hearts were broken and skin was bruised. They were too in love with the thought of changing to truly care of each other, weren't they? 

Tears watered down his pride.

** It seems like once again you've had to greet me with goodbye **

Memories at the hotel door, at the heart of the issue and him. Not the first, not the last attempt at reconciliation and yet the desperate attempt was shut down by the 1st, 6th, 20th knock. Oh was he put in his place, alright. 

Never again such held affection or embarrassment, he reminded himself bitterly.

Sat up and out of his thoughts, but a frail shell of a person in the mess of sheets from days of not doing his bed. An ungracious grab for the  _ Gauloises _ and it's almost like the enemy won, again.

** I'm always just about to go and spoil a surprise **

** Take my hands off of your eyes too soon **

Just had to snap him out of the dream they were living in. The fly in the trap had the right to know that the abuser did not change, not a single thing about him in accordance to what he had promised. 

He paused in the trainwreck of thoughts and took out a cigarette from the pack like clockwork. Put it to his lips, lighter ready. . .

He's but a barrel of gun powder and emotions ready to blow, ready to kill the feelings and erase the beautiful moments. 

Lit it.

Arthur puffed out the first hit of grey smoke - always tasted different from the rest - and flicked the ash from the long drag into the tray situated close to the bed, for obvious reasons. 

He could almost see some similarity in the the idea - the first drag upon lighting it was different and the end of the cigarette burnt his fingers if waiting for the fire to reach the filter. Timing.

Raised a hand to his forehead and pushed back the hair getting in the way of his eyesight.

** I'm going back to 505 **

Salty floods were conquering his cheeks and anger - that may have been the nicotine kick though - in big leaps. Another night of a wet pillow behind him and the annoying grown out hair. The alarm, to be turned off just as long ago, perhaps not as long ago. Left a sour taste, 5:00 AM.

** If it's a seven hour flight or a forty-five minute drive **

The laptop on the nightstand was grabbed borderline desperately and flipped open. It was tainted with drops of tea in between the keys. The habit of turning tea into an alcoholic beverage was getting out of control, even made his hand tremble, interfering with his work. Sighing, he fixed the half-burnt cigarette in between his lips and used the wet pajama sleeve for wiping in between the crevices. 

A time, a flight, a seat. A car, a road, a knock. 

Arthur imagined his usually accidental lover in freshly changed sheets all ready for dirty-ing, with a newly opened bottle of wine adorned by two glistening glasses. 

He could almost feel Francis in the dark of his shut eyelids taking a sneaky drag from the cigarette. Arthur would turn to playful anger and scold him, if only he really were there.

** In my imagination you're waiting, lying on your side **

** With your hands between your thighs  **

He looked up to the ceiling, pretending to have just woken from his little death, Francis holding his hand securely in all the fuzz. Always found comfort in the ceiling bathed in morning light. Brought good memories with it.

Arthur closed the laptop softly while putting out the cigarette in the ashtray and counted the remaining ones in the pack with a minimal glance. A heavy breath and tug at his own self established a fake sense of warmth underneath the variety of blankets.

** And a smile **

The ceiling did look great, bathing in morning light. He wished Francis was there to see it and laugh at him, telling him to rather look out the window to see the Sun directly.

And yet one rarely looks directly at the Sun. It hides behind its blinding rays, much like his lover. Hard to find and when found, unaccessible.

**Author's Note:**

> Why do I imagine Alex Turner's voice being Arthur's so vividly? :)


End file.
